Granger's Sessions
by the.woods
Summary: After realizing Granger has been cultivating illicit plants, Draco becomes infatuated with the Mudblood. [AU] [Dark] [Draco/Hermione]
1. Chapter 1: An Interest

**Author:** the_woods_  
**Title:** "Granger's Sessions"  
**Ship(s):** Draco/Hermione, Hermione/Ginny, Hermione/Other, Draco/Pansy, mentions of Hermione/Theodore  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings/Contains:** AU: "Voldemort? Who's Voldemort?" Bent some Hogwarts rules. Illicit substance use and experimentation (NOT abuse). Graphic sex. Foul language. Femslash. Prostitution. Dark.  
**Summary:** After realizing Granger has been cultivating illicit plants, Draco becomes infatuated with the Mudblood.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.  
**A/N:** Whew! What a ride. This story was created based on the prompt "Children of the Sexual Revolution" for the 2011 **deflower_draco** fest. Thanks to the "Get Shit Done" Crew :) **eevilalice** for being such a great mod for the fest. And a HUGE thanks to my betas, **lksnarry1** (full of excellent suggestions), **Princess Storm** (navigator of plot holes, loops, canon), **L** (the comma queen), and **T** (my experimental reader).

x.x.x

A sharp yelp cut across the Great Hall's monotonous din, stirring Draco from his usual apathetic reverie. Raising his head, he spotted Granger hovering over an opened package. It was rectangular, brightly wrapped with modest ribbons and a bow. He glanced up and noticed for the first time owls taking flight. She must have received it only moments ago, delivered by post.

Pansy craned her neck and said in a tone that belied her envy, "wonder what all the fuss is about."

"It's Granger's birthday," Theodore answered. His eyes remained on his copy of the Hogwarts Hippogriff.

"How would you know?" Pansy asked, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him.

Theodore shook out the newspaper, then folded it in half. Draco eyed the discrete headline he was pointing at: _Happy 17th Birthday to our own Hermione Jean Granger. Love, your Session Mates._

Draco snickered. "Bloody pathetic! A loyal gang of study buddies? Wonder how many future librarians are in the group she actually calls her friends."

He turned his attention back to the Gryffindor table. The Weaselette was using her rapid Quidditch reflexes to reach past Granger and into the mysterious box. Granger gave yet another shriek, trying to wrestle the redhead's hands away.

"I thought they only announce deaths and weddings in newspapers," Blaise said nonchalantly.

"You forget this is a student publication." Theodore slid the Hogwarts Hippogriff away, returning to his meal. "Awkward Creevey photos and typos are abound."

Draco snorted, his gaze returning to the spectacle. The Weaselette was waving a strange, shiny object in the air. She laughed while Granger reached over, her face flushed as she tried unsuccessfully to reclaim her gift. Metallic and fuchsia, the item reminded him of a long parchment-weight he once saw at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment in Diagon Alley. Lifting up his half-eaten muffin, Draco muttered, "Merlin, her gifts are as boring as she is."

Theodore squinted. "What is that thing, anyway?"

"Looks like one of those parchment-weights," Draco answered.

Everyone else in the Great Hall was beginning to slowly turn their attention to Granger and the Weasellete's exchange. Granger knocked over her water in an effort to slap a hand over the Weaselette's mouth.

Theodore shook his head slowly. "No...no, I don't think so, Draco."

Nearby, Tracey gasped when she spotted the object. Daphne nudged her. "What? What is it?"

Tracey leaned over and whispered in her friend's ear. Draco looked on as Daphne's jaw went slack and her eyes grew wide. The two girls burst into a fit of giggles, leaving Draco to reconsider his previous statement. _It must be some Muggle device_, he reasoned with himself. That still didn't explain the girls' strange reactions.

Granger finally managed to snag the thing away from the youngest Weasley. She attempted to compose herself, as well as her unruly hair, before placing it back in its original box. The other Weasley, Draco noted dully, sat stiffly on Granger's alternate side. Potter's back was facing Draco, and although he couldn't make out his expression, he'd wager Potter was just as embarrassed as Weasley.

After his meal, Draco exited the Great Hall by himself. He heard the familiar yet irritating voices of Potter and Weasley, echoing from the other side of the nearly empty corridor.

"Can you believe Ginny?" Weasley exclaimed, obviously upset. Draco quickened his pace. "I don't know where she gets it. She must have taken one too many injuries during our Quidditch practices this summer!"

"Think you might be overreacting, Ron? It's not like anyone—"

"The whole _school_ saw! Including the professors!" Weasley's wail was on equal footing with the ghosts who haunted Hogwarts. "What are people going to think?"

"Who cares?"

"I do, Harry. I care. If I'm going to ask her out, I don't want..."

"What?" Potter pressed. Draco rounded the corner and faced the Gryffindors, their backs turned toward him. "Just say it."

"I don't want people thinking I'm just another notch on her broomstick."

"Good thing she doesn't ride, then."

"Harry, I'm serious!"

"So am I, Ron. Who cares what people think? And _you_ know Hermione isn't—"

Draco sauntered over to the bickering couple, interrupting their spat. "Now, here's a priceless scene." Potter and Weasley spun around. Caught off-guard, their expressions contorted from shock to angry glares. "I see the two white knights—or rather, the two fools clad in shoddy armor. But where's the Mudblood in distress?"

"Sod off, Malfoy," Potter said.

Draco rolled his eyes. At least taunting the Mudblood required a bit of skill. "So, where is she? Outside playing with her new toy?"

Potter sprouted a soft shade of pink upon his cheeks. Weasley, however, was absolutely livid—his face twisted as blotches of delightfully dark spots graced his freckles. Draco grinned at the sight of the Weasel turning the same wretched color as his hair.

"Take that back!" Weasley sputtered.

"If you even think about Hermione like that," Potter yelled indignantly, "We'll—"

"You'll what, Potter?" Draco sneered as he straightened his robes, his prefect badge on display. "Besides, I'm not the only one in this bloody school who saw the gift. Now we're all just curious who it's from." He watched Weasley's hands ball into fists. "My bet's on Snape. The Mudblood _has_ been getting all those extra credits—"

Weasley lunged. Potter was barely able to hold him back. Draco laughed and casually smoothed down his robes. He wondered briefly why Granger's strange Muggle paperweight caused such an uproar. "That's right, Potter. Better keep your leash tight on that one."

Weasley tore out of Potter's grip. Draco watched, wide-eyed, as the taller boy approached him menacingly. He ducked when the Gryffindor swung at him, but didn't anticipate the Weasel's speed. Draco felt the air escape from his lungs when Weasley hit him square in the gut. Draco doubled over, clutching his mid-section, when Weasley locked his arm around his neck.

Of all the teachers to stop Weasley from pounding Draco into a bloody pulp, it was Professor Flitwick who came rushing out of his classroom and into the hall. "Mister Weasley!" he called out, waving his wand. "Mister Malfoy! Mister Weasley, release that stronghold at once!"

Reluctantly, Weasley loosened his grip on Draco. Draco pushed Weasley away from him and took in a large bout of oxygen, his head bowed and hands upon his knees.

"I can't believe you boys," Flitwick said, addressing Weasley and Draco. "Prefects attacking each other!"

"He started it!" Weasley yelled.

Potter stepped up. "He did call Hermione a Mudblood, sir."

Flitwick wheeled around. Draco rolled his neck from side to side, massaging it innocently. "All I did was curse," he argued. "It was a slip. Unintentional. But they physically _attacked_ me, two on one!"

Flitwick looked at him sadly. "Sometimes, words can be more dangerous than throttles, my boy."

Draco scowled. Flitwick assigned all three of them detention for tomorrow—the start of the weekend. "Expect your detention summons by the end of the day," he called out as he waddled back to his classroom.

True to his word, Draco found his summons at the head of his bed when he returned back to his dorm. Vince and Greg were huddled on the floor playing magic marbles—for money, it looked like. Vince looked up at Draco's scowl, then eyed the detention slip.

"What'd you do, Draco?"

"Nothing, as usual," he complained. "Potter and Weasley were making arses of themselves. I called them out on it, then somehow _I_ ended up in trouble." He read the slip and paled. "Duty in the Forbidden Forest?! Are they insane!"

"Isn't that where you and Potter found that dead guy?"

"It was a unicorn," Draco replied evenly. "Its throat was slit. Some...creature was feasting on the thing's blood."

"I heard that if you drink unicorn's blood, you can live forever." Draco recognized Theodore's voice. He turned to face his friend, who had been listening in the doorway. "As long as you're willing to pay the price, that is. What are you going to do in the forest?"

Draco shrugged. "Collecting bloodroot is what the note says."

Theodore crinkled his nose. "Better than prepping it, I suppose."

That next morning, Draco exited the castle and eyed his fellow students with envy as they lounged about in the sun. Although it was autumn, summer still had a lingering hold on the trees and grass and sky. Almost immediately, the scenery changed as Draco crossed the threshold and stepped into the shadows of the Forbidden Forest. He warily eyed the imposing trees on his right. Why did Hagrid have to build his stupid hut so close to this place?

Draco forced himself to think of something less frightening and more comfortable: anger. He tightened his coat around him, cursing Potter and Weasley. It was _their_ fault for getting him detention. Why was he forced to join them?

He was about to knock when the half-giant opened the door. "You made it," Hagrid said gruffly.

"Didn't exactly have a choice, did I?" He looked down at his slip. "I'm supposed to help you find bloodroot."

"Right. Well, we best be on our way."

"Where's Potter and Weasley?

"They're working their detention off in the trophy room," Hagrid replied. "Professor Sprout owled me when she heard you got detention. She specifically requested your help with the uprooting. Said you're one of the best."

"Remind me to thank her," he said dryly. "So you're saying I'm stuck out here, while those two idiots get to lounge about in the castle?"

"Highly doubt they're lounging. 'sides, it's a nice day out. Me and Hermione here already worked a strategy to get this done in under three hours."

Draco peered past the half-giant and into his disgusting display of a house. Granger got up from her seat and walked toward them. "We can do this easily if we follow this route I mapped out," she directed. Draco rolled his eyes, already bored.

As they exited the shack, Hagrid took off to find his burlap sacks, leaving Draco and Granger in an awkward silence. "So Granger," he started, always anxious to one-up the other person during uncomfortable moments, "what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

She shot him a disinterested look. He pressed on. "Seriously. What'd you do to land yourself in detention?"

"I'm not in detention," Granger answered lightly.

Draco lifted his right leg up to place a spell on his suede Italian loafers. No way was he muddying even the cheapest pair of shoes he owned. "Then what the bloody hell are you doing here? Isn't this your birthday weekend?"

She shrugged, snapping a strange Muggle belt around her waist. It contained more pouches than Draco could count. "I'm working on a project."

Draco put his right foot down and lifted his left. "Which one?" They shared almost all their classes, to Draco's dismay.

"It's a personal experiment," Granger said, tucking away a small vile into one of her pouches.

"Why? What are you getting out of it?"

"Nothing but the satisfaction of a job well done and knowledge well gained." She tilted her head at him. "Not that you could even begin to comprehend either of those concepts."

"I get satisfactory marks."

"Enough to get by, maybe, but no where near enough to get ahead."

Draco glared. Before he could open his mouth, Hagrid's voice boomed from beyond the shack. The howl of Flurry, or Foofy, or whatever that blasted creature's name was, rang out through the grounds.

"All right, everyone," Hagrid boomed, obviously excited about the excursion. Draco looked on with mild contempt as he accepted the burlap sack offered to him. "We're off!"

They wandered toward the forest. A noticable chill welled up inside Draco. He glanced secretly at Granger, who looked about as unruffled as Hagrid himself. _Makes sense_, Draco thought. _The Mudblood and the half-giant. No better than the creatures in the forest. But purebloods…_

Upon stepping into the shade of the forest, Granger opened her annoyingly loud trap once more. "Ron and Harry told me you were teasing them about one of my birthday presents."

He seethed at the memory. "No thanks to them, I'm stuck spending my Saturday in this rotten hellhole."

Granger spotted a crop of bloodroot immediately. It was known to grow along the edges of the forest, rather than deep in the thick of it. She bent down and began sorting gently through its leaves, examining the plant with tenderness. "Hate to admit it, but I was a bit taken back when I heard you actually knew what a vibrator was."

"Vibrator?" Draco grimaced as he plucked one of the plants up, its roots seeping with a sap that eerily reminded him of blood. "Oh...erm, yeah. Of course. I thought everyone knew what a vibrator is."

"If they're Muggle, maybe. Hasn't quite caught on with the women of the Wizarding world, yet."

Draco lifted another plant. Its roots were decaying and infected with worms and maggots. "Women?"

"I suppose some men might have use for it as well. But it's marketed as primarily a woman's tool—we're better equip to handle it, you know."

"I'll have you know, Granger," Draco replied, "I can handle your wimpy _tool_ better than you or any other woman can."

Instead of being insulted, Granger looked positively entertained by the prospect. "Oh, really?"

His pride won over his common sense. "It's _pink_ for Merlin's sake. How much could anyone possibly accomplish with a dingy thing like that?"

Granger laughed. Draco blinked, slightly startled. Although her laugh was out of place, it was warm, genuine, and full of energy. He looked at her as she shook her head, curls lightly swaying from side to side. He had seen her laugh in class, laugh with her friends—hell, even laugh at _him_. He found that witnessing her cheery disposition wasn't as bad when he was on the other side of the fence.

Hagrid disappeared behind the trees with his beast of a dog. Draco and Granger stayed on the outer rim of the forrest, placing uprooted bloodroot into their burlap bags. As the pair worked, Draco noticed that even their methods were different. Whenever they would find a plant without deep red sap, Draco merely tossed the thing over his shoulder. Granger, on the other hand, took to solemnly burying the entire plant as though it were a tiny corpse.

As soon as Hagrid was completely gone from sight, Granger trotted over to a plant that was obviously not bloodroot. She dipped down and swiftly clipped the flower from its stem. After whispering a spell, a gleam of light emitted from the bloom and she immediately placed it in one of her many pouches.

"What was that?" Draco called.

Granger turned around quickly. _Too_ quickly for Draco's taste. "Nothing. Nevermind."

Draco grinned. "What are you trying to hide from the oaf?"

"None of your business, Malfoy."

"It is if you don't want Hagrid to find out," Draco said with a sneer.

Granger rolled her eyes. "I'm working on a potion."

It was too easy getting Gryffindors to confess. Even still, Draco was suspicious; it wasn't like the Mudblood to turn down a prime lecturing opportunity. "Which potion?"

"You wouldn't know it."

"Why? Is it dark? Or a poison?"

"Of course not," Granger bristled. With a sigh, she launched into her academically egotistical mode. He instantly regretted asking. Her voice reminded him of the gnats buzzing tirelessly around his head as he worked. "I'm combining Muggle and Wizard medicines and potions to create a type of hybrid product. If you _must_ know."

Draco watched incredulously as Granger marched off, her nose haughtily up in the air. Only a mental wench like Granger would choose to willingly venture into the Forbidden Forest, double her workload, then waste a weekend doing actual work—and a _birthday_ weekend, at that.

The hours rolled by. Draco continued to dig up bloodroot while watching Granger identify a myriad of species and strains he had never heard of. He found his gaze lingering on her, at times. Her hands were filthy. There was dirt underneath each of her fingernails. He supposed that made sense, considering her blood status: of course she'd be comfortable crawling around on the Forbidden Forest floors. Upon that realization, he checked his nails often and breathed a silent sigh of relief each time they came up relatively clean.

When the work was finished, he left without saying goodbye to the half-giant or the Mudblood. He tried calculating how long it would take for him to shower as well as grab a late lunch in the Great Hall. Looking down at his unkempt clothes, he knew showering was a priority, no matter how hungry he was. _A Malfoy is never anything less than high-class pureblood_, his parents often said. With his hair disheveled and his skin speckled with dirt, Draco tightened his coat despite the warm weather.

As he made his way up the revolving staircase, he imagined the half-giant and Mudblood would probably show at the Great Hall without even bothering to clean themselves. Draco sniffed. He wouldn't be subject to the same judgement they were—not if he could help it. When he reached the fifth floor, he bolted toward the Prefects' bathroom, relieved to have made it without being recognized.

After cleaning up and eating lunch, he meandered over to the library without thinking. Lazily, he examined the books in boredom and wondered what his friends were up to. Theodore had gone mysteriously missing from most of their after-hour hangouts. Blaise was busy trying to find someone—absolutely anyone—to swap spit with for the evening. That left Draco with Vince and Greg, which was even less fun than being alone.

Draco found himself in the Herbology section. Curious, he browsed through titles. There was one spine that caught his attention, and so he took the book out, casually thumbing through the pages. Draco had never seen so many pictures of weeds, flowers, trees, seeds. Even in their Herbology textbooks, the information was condensed and limited. As he scanned the drawings and photographs, he tried to tap into why Granger was so obsessed with plants. They were...well, _boring_. They might be good for potions and making a place look pretty, but other than that, Draco found them to just get in the way.

Almost by accident, he turned the page and recognized one of the flowers she broke off. Hanging upside-down, the bloom was pretty and white, its petals curling at the end, almost like a dress. It had an elongated neck and reminded Draco of an extremely thin bell. He glanced at the name and mouthed it to himself, as if willing it to memory. His lips curled into a smirk as he noted the warning label underneath the picture: _dangerous, toxic, and highly illegal._

Shifting through the index, he found a reference book on the flower that could help him understand exactly why a goody-goody Gryffindor like Granger would want such a specimen. Smiling smugly and proud of himself for finally getting one up on Granger, he returned the book to the shelf before heading for the front desk.

"I need to find a book," he demanded from across the way.

Madam Pince looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Let's try that again, shall we, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco waited until he reached her to rephrase his statement. "Is _Datura: Muggle Goddess or Conscious Magic?_ still in the library?"

She tapped her quill a few times on her desk. To the right of Madam Pince, a cabinet burst open. The card catalogue shuffled through itself. Eventually, a card floated into her reach. She glanced at it before waving her hand, which reorganized the cards and shut the cabinet.

"It's checked out," she announced. "Under special conditions."

Draco wondered what kind of conditions those were. "Who? Who has it now?"

"That would be Hermione Granger."

"When is she returning it? How long till it's due?"

Madam Pince looked up. "Why don't you ask her?"

Draco snorted. "I'm not going to waste my time tracking down a Mud—I mean, another student just for a book. So how about you—"

"What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Draco turned to see an extremely annoyed Granger with her hands on her hips. She glared at him and he reminded himself she was just a girl, no matter how fearsome she looked when provoked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Draco sneered. "You're not the only one around here with secrets."

"At least I know how to guard mine," she shot back. "What's your game, Malfoy?"

"Game?" He casually adjusted his dark green tie, purposefully avoiding her gaze. "No game. Just curious why Hermione Granger, Hogwarts' resident know-it-all, holier-than-thou prude and insufferable stuck-up, is interested in the cultivation of datura—"

Granger reacted quicker than Draco expected. She grabbed him by his sleeve and dragged him out the library without a word. As soon as they exited, she pushed him to the side of the corridor, away from the curious stares of their peers.

"Not as dumb as you thought I was, huh?" Draco said triumphantly.

"No," Granger said, rolling her eyes. "A lot dumber, actually. You can't go shouting out information like that on school grounds!"

"And you can't be collecting it on school grounds, either."

"It's a _plant_. They grow naturally in the forest, I might add."

He tsked, shaking his head. "Granger, Granger, Granger. I knew you were playing with poisons. And illicit ones, at that." He tilted his head. "Who are you trying to off, anyway? Finally had it with Weasley's idiotic antics?"

"If I were trying to 'off' anyone, it'd be you," she grumbled. "Look, Malfoy. You're way over your head. You don't have any idea of what you're talking about. Only a few of the students do."

He raised an eyebrow. "What, are you in a plant cult or something?"

"Just...do your research before you do—or _say_—anything drastic." She glared at him for good measure before leaving him to his thoughts.

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	2. Chapter 2: A Taste

Draco didn't think of Granger again until several days later, after running into Creepy Creevey. While passing from Charms to Transfiguration, he came across the younger Gryffindor loitering in the hall. Creevey was preoccupied with both his camera and a group of gossiping girls standing a few feet away.

"Creevey," Draco called out. A flash went off as the mousey kid turned, startled, to face a rather annoyed Draco. "What are you up to, this time?"

Creevey grinned sheepishly. "Oh, hello Malfoy. I was just...erm..."

Draco nodded at the camera. "Thought you were banned from using that blasted thing."

"This one's Muggle," Creevey exclaimed, as though that freed him of the consequences.

"I see," Draco sneered. "You've been taking those disgusting pictures again, haven't you?"

The younger boy looked down and scratched his arm. "This time I've been asking for permission."

Draco snorted. "That's a step up." He extended his arm. "Hand them over, Creevey. _All_ of them."

Creevey sighed before reaching into his robes. He made no attempt to look Draco in the eye as he pulled out a folded manila envelope.

"And the negatives, as well." Draco paused. "Or are Muggles too stupid to consider making anything other than prints?"

At that, Creevey blanched. Grumbling, he swung his bag out and dug through his clutter. He came up with two tiny canisters and hesitated. Draco snatched them from him.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor," he said. "Now get lost."

Creevey scampered off, clutching his Muggle camera tightly to his chest. Draco deposited the negatives into his trouser pockets. He peered down at the envelope, turning it over in his hand.

Professor McGonagall rounded the counter and spotted Creevey running away from Malfoy. "Was Mister Creevey misusing his camera privileges, once more?"

Draco nodded, sliding the envelope into his robe's pocket. "I reprimanded him as needed, docked points from the Gryffindor house, and after your class, I'll be on my way to see Filch with the confiscated pictures."

"Good for you, Mister Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said as they walked into her classroom. "I was hesitant at first when Severus recommended you as a prefect, but I have to say you've really surprised us all."

"Thanks, Professor," Draco said, flashing her his best smile. As soon as she walked away, he smirked to himself and headed for his seat.

Instead of going to Filch after class as promised, Draco went straight to the dungeons. He whispered the password and entered into the common room. Blaise lounged lazily on the couch; whether he was studying or reading another love letter, Draco couldn't tell. He plopped over on the seat next to Blaise. His friend raised an eyebrow, silently irritated.

"Just confiscated the newest batch of photos from Creevey," Draco said smugly.

Blaise smirked. "Wicked. Anything worthwhile?"

"Haven't taken a look," Draco answered. "Hosting the auction an hour after dinner. Spread the word."

Draco arrived later than usual to the Slytherin table for dinner. Most of his friends and classmates were finished with their meal, leaving him free to sit by himself. Casually, he glanced around the nearly empty Great Hall before taking out Creevey's envelope.

Rummaging through the photographs without guilt nor a second thought, Draco considered Creevey's subjects with a hint of amusement. There was a mixture of normal pictures, the moving kind Draco was used to seeing, as well as several Muggle photographs. He felt strange, looking at the eerily still images. It was an interesting paradox: somehow, the ones where the girls weren't moving captivated him even more. How could Muggle pictures hold an enhancement that the magical pictures lacked? Even Pansy looked snoggable when she was frozen in time, unable to talk or sneer or bat her eyelashes at him.

Draco stopped shuffling when he saw a picture of a girl he didn't want to recognize. Her back was to Creevey's camera, but he'd recognize that bushy hair, anywhere. Then someone must have gotten her attention—she swung her frizzy hair back and turned to face the camera. Draco's breath caught in his throat. He watched as the Gryffindor closed her eyes and shook her hair. Those brown strands were everywhere, and he was surprised to find he didn't mind.

She tugged on her Gryffindor tie at the knot, and as the silk loosened Draco caught himself staring at her cleavage. As if she could feel his eyes, Granger looked directly into the camera with a sultry smile and wink. Her friends laughed as she turned back to them, dropping the playful act.

Draco blinked. Was that really the stuffy, snobby, future librarian spinster he argued with only a few days ago? He had never seen that side of her, before. He wondered if she was like this often. Thinking of Granger posing, modeling, and having any sort of sexual appeal unnerved him. Somehow, between her dirty blood and her haughty intelligence, Draco had missed a simple fact: Granger was actually a _girl_.

From the corner of his eye, Draco noticed someone approaching him. He unhurriedly packed the rest of the pictures into its envelope just as a young Slytherin stopped at his side.

"What do you want?" Draco asked, and not kindly.

"Just wondering when the auction's starting," the kid said.

"As soon as I finish my meal."

The boy looked down at Draco's plate. "But you haven't even started."

Draco sent him a glare that made him flee from the table. Satisfied, Draco picked up his fork and began to eat, trying—without success—to erase Granger's photograph from his memory.

When he finished dinner, he made his way to the dungeons. The envelope thudded softly against his chest with each step, reminding him of their presence. After a moment's hesitation, he reached for them once more.

The first picture to greet him was that same one of Granger. Suddenly anxious, he placed the rest of the photographs back into his robes. Upon noticing the empty corridor, Draco quickly and without thinking shoved the photograph of Granger into his trouser's back pocket, intending to keep it for himself.

Nothing could justify his ebbing guilt and shame; not of finding the Mudblood attractive, but of actually acting on those impulses. There was a difference between murdering a man in your mind and murdering a man in reality. Draco knew of the line he just crossed with the Mudblood and tried to logically explain himself. He tried repeating all the reasons he hated her to himself. She was smart—too smart. Uptight. Pompous. Interestingly enough, all those qualities were characteristics she had in common with him. Qualities, some would argue, that only belonged to pure-bloods.

As Draco neared the common room entrance, he pushed all thoughts of Granger aside. It was time to make a killing—and not because he needed the money, but because the skill came so naturally.

"Gentlemen," Draco announced to the room full of mostly male Slytherin students. Their eyes watched him as he made his way to the center of the common room. "I give you Creepy McCreevey's fruits of labor."

With a flick of his wand, Creevey's photographs levitated out of the envelope and scattered gracefully onto the table. Vince, Greg, and several other students began to enthusiastically shift through them. Blaise looked on coolly with subdued interest. Even Theodore decided to make an appearance—albeit in the back, away from all the action.

"How much for this one?" that same younger Slytherin from the Great Hall asked. He was holding up a rather unflattering image of a random Hufflepuff girl.

Draco stroked his chin, brushing across his nearly invisible peach fuzz. "What are your intentions?"

The student looked down at the photograph in his hand, speaking more to it than to Draco. "This'll be great blackmail," he said, the slightest hint of excitement along the edges of his words. "She'll _have_ to do what I tell her after she sees this."

Draco and a few of the others chuckled. "Four galleons, sixteen sickles, and...eleven knuts, then."

The boy frantically began searching his pockets. With a flick of his wrist, Draco levitated the photograph out of the Slytherin's hand and paraded it in front for all the boys to see. When no one tried to outbid the price, the younger boy gave Draco his money, quickly making his way back to the dorms with the picture of the Hufflepuff trapped in his grasp.

"Alright then," Draco called. "Who's next?"

A roar of yells, whistles, commands flooded the common room. Hands plowed at the photographs as though they were plundered treasure. With fingers pointed every which way, several Slytherins pushed against each other to call out their bids and claim their favorites. As the hour slowly passed, more and more photographs began to trickle away, leaving with their new owners.

Draco was not surprised to find the majority of leftovers were candid shots of Potter. It was then that Theodore approached him.

"Come to feed off the scraps, then?" Draco joked without malice.

His friend grinned. Draco didn't have to be a Slytherin to see the true intentions lying beneath Theodore's devious smile. "There were none of Granger."

It didn't come out as a question. Draco shrugged, turning his back on Theodore. He waved away the remaining Slytherins as they hovered over the photographs like flies among carrion. "Maybe Creevey got bored of chasing the Mudblood."

"Creevey's got a crush on her," Theodore elaborated. "Yet she's not in this batch."

"Maybe he's not as creepy as we thought," Draco suggested as he organized the photos into a pile. He gingerly placed them back into the envelope. "Maybe he was smart this time. Decided to keep her pinned up to his wall, instead of lugging the evidence around all day."

Theodore considered him carefully. Draco closed the envelope and folded the slack side over. "Maybe," Theodore said, obviously unconvinced. "Maybe not."

Draco left for his prefect patrol with Tracey shortly afterwards. Throughout the hour, his hands casually drifted to his back trouser pocket, checking to make sure the picture of Granger was still there. On occasion, he would reach inside and caress the edges of her photograph, as if it were a good luck charm.

He found his thoughts once again drifting to the Mudblood. A rationale for why he couldn't keep her at bay came to him as he remembered various conversations between the adults at those social gatherings he was constantly forced to attend. Every pure-blood agreed: those without magic in their blood were _supposed_ to be dirty. It was all too natural for them, really. Draco thought back to the Forbidden Forest and how comfortable Granger was among the soil, the uncivilized half-giant, the animals, the ugly, dreadful, less useful plants.

But Mudbloods were not only dirty in blood. They were dirty in other ways, too. Their men were treacherous. Their women loose and deviant. No standards, no morals, no class. Draco grinned to himself, absent-mindedly thumbing Granger's photograph. _He_ wasn't doing anything wrong. It wasn't his fault a Mudblood had this effect on him, as sick as she was.

His roommates were asleep when he returned from his shift. Draco closed the door behind him and took in a deep, quiet breath. His hand fingered the tip of his wand as he found his way in the dark to his bed, careful not to wake anyone. In the darkness, he stripped out of his uniform and hopped under his covers, tightly clutching his wand and Creevey's photograph.

His eyes wandered across the room, unsure of what he was looking for. He felt his face, then his entire body, rise in temperature. Licking his lips, he whispered _lumos_ and the tiniest of lights reflected off Granger's picture. With a flick of his wand, he watched as she levitated conveniently above him at eye level. Draco propped his wand on the table by his bed, directing it at Granger so his hands could remain free.

Draco closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts amidst the quiet snoring. _It's late_, he reasoned to himself. _No one will know. Just get it over with._

Opening his eyes, Draco snuck his hand beneath the sheets. His gaze gravitated from the ceiling toward Granger's picture. Granger and her thick hair, Granger and her bouncing tits. Granger and the look in her eyes that shouldn't be in any Mudblood's eyes, really. What right did she have to be this proud?

He curved his hand around his member somewhat lightly at first, as if testing the waters. Draco tried to remember the last time this happened. It must have been last year, but he couldn't remember for certain. His best memory involving wanking was after the Yule Ball in fourth year. His self-discipline had defeated him—maybe that was because of the Firewhisky. Despite all the pure-blood restrictions whispering in his head, he had managed to hide in a bathroom stall, leaning against the wall, thinking of Pansy and his hands around her hips, sliding down to her lower back and following the curve of her body. During their dance, her breath was hot on his neck and her chest pressed against him. Even her pug-face looked attractive enough under the right lighting and with the proper amount of make-up.

Draco's thoughts then reverted quite suddenly back to Granger. He looked at the picture, desperately wishing she were standing. He wanted to know what the rest of her body looked like. He found himself staring at the Mudblood's breasts when she moved, and at her face when she was still. A slight blush crawled upon his face as he let out a silent groan, his left hand grabbing a fistful of his sheets as his other moved up and down rather furiously. There she was with that look in her eyes and his cock throbbed in a familiar yet painfully sinful way.

Granger loosened her tie again and Draco threw his head back against his pillow, the arc of his back lifting off the mattress. Soon he found himself unable to think. All he could see was Granger floating in the darkness, her hair wild and untamed and spilled in every direction, then her breasts, again, and that look, that mischievous and cocky and almost Slytherin grin, as if she knows exactly what he is doing, as if she knows that out there, somewhere, there is a Malfoy who wants to forget about honor and pride, sacrifice and tradition, and just take her as she sits at the table, so smug and full of herself, the little Mudblood bitch.

And with that final thought of her soiled blood, her unworthy heritage, her loose and wanton ways, Draco gasped and all the heat flowed down toward his center before he spasmed. Another jolt, then a third, and he collapsed, sticky and satisfied, shamed yet triumphant. With a quick _scourgify_, he shifted between his newly cleaned sheets then vanished Granger away, ready to fall into a guilty dreaming sleep full of muddy eyes and hair.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3: A Session

Throughout most of their classes, Granger didn't seem to notice that Draco chose to sit directly in back of her, trying to map out the way her hair fell across her shoulders. Whenever she would glance back at him, he'd blink, sneer, then mouth "what?" Eventually, she'd return her attention to the front of whatever class they were in. He even found himself at the library more often than usual. Each time he walked by her table, Granger shot him an annoyed yet curious stare. Draco found it easy to mask his intentions with a well-placed evil stare.

But what were those intentions? He mulled over that question each time he sought her out in class, the library, and even around the Great Hall. It wasn't exactly hard to find her. She was usually with the Weaselette, Potter and Weasley. All three never could leave her side.

An entire week passed before Granger actually called him out on his borderline stalking. On his way to the dungeons, she sneaked out of her hiding place behind a corner and surprised him. He stopped in his tracks and tried to recompose himself.

"Bloody hell, Granger," he said angrily. "What do you want?"

"I think the real question is," she responded, "what do _you_ want, Malfoy?"

He shifted his books under his arms. "I want many things, actually. To get piss drunk at Pansy's party next weekend, so I don't have to remember anything that may or may not happen. To pass tomorrow's Defence Against The Dark Arts quiz. Maybe even get a prediction right in Divination...specifically, the one where I envision your boyfriends falling to their death at Gryffindor's next Quidditch game."

She raised an eyebrow. "My boyfriends?"

"The whole world knows the Weasel's got a thing for you. But Potter..." Draco pretended to mull it over. "I'm still not quite sure which team he's playing for."

"So, you've it stepped up," Granger said. "Not only are you constantly staring at me, you're dissecting every aspect of my life."

"You're pretty full of yourself, aren't you?"

"I would think a Malfoy could spot a fellow egotistical maniac better than anyone." Granger took a step closer to him. Draco moved back, not because of intimidation, but because he didn't want her touching him. Or so he tried to convince himself.

Granger lifted her chin in what Draco considered a quite haughty manner. The corners of her lips curled into a sinful smile, making her eyes appear seductive. "You want to know more," she whispered.

Draco became acutely aware of his mouth going dry. "More?"

"About the plants."

Draco swallowed in relief. He didn't see the need to correct her. He glanced over her shoulder at a group of fifth years walking by. "Plants? Sure. Of course. Might say I've been curious."

She considered him for a moment. He briefly wondered what her response would be if he told her the truth: that he'd been thinking about her. That he touched himself while picturing her. That there was a photograph of her hidden deep inside his locked drawer. Draco pushed his thoughts away, refusing to dwell. _It's her own fault_, he reminded himself. He didn't _want _anything to do with her. He couldn't control the effects of a Mudblood on him.

Granger let her hands relax at her sides as she came to a decision. "Tell Nott to bring you to the next session."

"Session?" Draco chortled. "What, are you going to convert me into one of your study mates?"

x.x.x

Draco found himself in the Room of Requirement seated next to Theodore. He had been there a handful of times before, but usually it was just a regular lavatory. This time, the space was transformed into a place with a very South Asian vibe. Above, a dome exposing the outside world shined the last hour of light upon them. Sunlight grazed across the colorful drapes hanging across walls, flooding the large room in a warm, golden glow. There was a variety of scents, both spicy and sweet, which lingered in the afternoon air. Paintings, photographs and posters peered down at him. Draco paid especially close attention to the sculptures with their tongues sticking out, multiple arms waving gently up and down.

He was seated cross-legged on an Oriental rug of intricate patterns and vibrant colors. That should have been his first warning sign. _Only children find comfort on the floor,_ his mother had chided him one afternoon when he and Blaise were in his room, trying to hide the erotic photographs Blaise snuck over. The pillow he sat on now was at least comfortable, and the incense wafting about wasn't bad if you compared it to the kind Trelawney often used in Divination.

Draco looked around the small circle of students. It was then he realized that although he recognized all by name and sight, he never actually talked to them outside the classroom—save Granger and Theodore. They all regarded him with guarded, questioning gazes. He straightened his back, silently reveling in the spotlight.

Granger lit some coals on the top of a rather large contraption which, interestingly enough, also remained on the floor upon an exquisite mat. _Theo's a pure-blood_, he thought distastefully, _and he's not only chosen to sit on the floor, but accept the absence of a table_.

Granger sat back down and offered Lovegood, who sat to her left, the hose. Although she was the one beginning to smoke, most of the circle's attention was still on Draco.

Confident in the awkward situation, Draco nodded at the contraption. "What's that, then?"

Granger rolled her eyes. "For being supposed pure-blood royalty or whatever it is you go around calling yourself...you sure don't know a lot, do you, Malfoy?"

Before Draco could counter, the Patil from Ravenclaw laughed. He was surprised to find her here, without her twin. "It's called a hookah, Malfoy." To Granger, Patil responded, "most wizards and witches here in London don't know about shisha, Hermione."

Granger raised her brows in contemplation. Lovegood blew out a few delicate smoke rings before resting the hose on her lap. Draco shook his head. "Let me get this straight. You're sitting around smoking a plant through this..." he pointed at the Muggle device in contempt. "This device, just for fun?"

Even Granger chimed in with a laugh at that. "Some people enjoy shisha for fun," Lovegood said in that airy yet comforting voice of hers. "Others use it to relax. It has a nice flavor...Hermione is very good at finding interesting tastes." She brought the hose up once more and took in a deep breath. Holding it in, she passed the hose with her right hand to Theodore before releasing what looked like an extremely meditative and relaxing breath. As the smoke raised up to the high ceiling, Draco watched as Lovegood twirled her wand and pointed. The smoke began changing into wild colors as it dissipated above them.

"Why not just use cigarettes?" Draco asked. Based on his experience, most of the parties and gatherings he attended used alcohol as the primary substance of the night. Every so often, however, someone would bring cigarettes into the mix as something to do after being drunk was not enough.

"Doesn't go down as smooth," Theodore answered. "Also? Chemically addictive. Shisha, not so much." He inhaled the smoke, held it, then blew. He placed the hose on his lap as he lazily pointed his wand up, like Lovegood did. The smoke changed shape and became a horse, galloping in circles, climbing higher and higher.

"So this plant," Draco stated boldly as Theodore took another hit. "It's called shisha? And is that the only plant you use in a hookah?"

"No," Granger stated matter-of-factly. "Shisha isn't a plant, it's a tobacco mixture that's normally used with a hookah. Occasionally, you'll find people mix in cannabis."

"Really?" McLaggen asked, surprised.

"Back at home," Granger said, "in the Muggle world, I mean, we used cannabis instead of shisha."

Draco watched the smoke transform into a dancing woman by McLaggen's wand. Thomas shook his head. "I still can't believe you smoke pot, Hermione. And we went seven years without talking about it!"

Granger simply shrugged, grinning. "It's funny, because I basically grew up around the stuff. Then coming here, where not only is it forbidden but often unheard of...it's just a complete culture clash. It wasn't until this summer than I began experimenting with ways of merging Muggle traditions with magical ones."

"This is Muggle?" Draco asked as Thomas was handed the hose.

"Not exactly," Patil said. "Shisha and hookah have been around for thousands of years. I don't really know which blood started it first, but I do know hookah isn't as rampant as it is on the Muggle side."

Draco took everything in as Thomas began to smoke. He wondered how the lines could have blurred so badly between what was Muggle and what was pure. It was easy to lose track of history. If this device could have easily been Muggle, no one would know. Thousands of years, Patil had said. How could Draco even be sure he wasn't currently using Muggle items, practicing Muggle traditions?

As the hose passed from Thomas to Patil, then from Patil to him, he hesitantly accepted it. He looked down at the coil, fingering it lightly, and for the first time, he realized he was doubtful about jumping in.

Granger must have brushed against his thoughts, somehow. "If you want to wait till next time to try it, maybe do more research on your own, that's fine."

He handed the hose over, secretly relieved, then watched as she licked her lips. She brought the nozzle to her mouth and Draco had to look away.

"What's cannabis?" he asked aloud. Draco hated having to admit his ignorance on the subject, especially in front of people he didn't particularly know nor respect. Yet another part of him enjoyed receiving answers from a person, a peer his own age. It was a refreshing change from the musty old books of the library, or even an elderly professor.

"Marijuana is a plant," Thomas said. Draco found it interesting how Thomas took the time to look at everyone in the group. "It changes reality. Your body feels different, and what you hear and see feels different. You even start thinking differently!"

Granger craned her neck back and blew once, twice, three times. Draco looked on as the impressive three large rings of smoke floated upwards. She then unleashed an extremely deep exhale, and the group watched in awe as she wandlessly transformed her last puff into an otter. It dipped in, around, and out of the rings with skill and grace before diving back down and hitting the carpet in a triumphant splash of smoke.

"It's also extremely relaxing," Granger added, slipping into what had to be the most annoying lecture tone Draco ever had the displeasure of listening to. "It calms both your body and mind—most of the time, anyway. But Dean, I'd argue that it doesn't _really_ change reality. Your mind and body simply...experience life in a new light." Her face lit up, and Draco caught a glimpse of the reason why some people would put up with hanging out with the Mudblood. She launched herself into a passionate explanation, her hands roaming with her thoughts, eyes twinkling with an excitement bordering on mischievous.

"How do you know all this stuff?" McLaggen asked.

"She reads," Theodore responded. If Draco didn't know any better, he sounded slightly proud.

"That, and I've been doing a bit of research on the subject of entheogens. You know, I've discovered—"

Draco groaned. "Oh gods. Theo, I thought you said this would be relaxing. If you told me it would be just like attending class, I wouldn't have bothered."

Everyone but Granger chuckled. Shooting him an angry glare, she consented and for the remainder of the evening, the talk between the unlikely group was light and conversational. Feeling left out each round, Draco eventually gave in to his desire to give shisha a try. Despite his whispering conscience about Mudblood contraptions and cultures, he raised the hose to his mouth and inhaled deeply, like he saw the others doing. It was different from cigarettes, in that the smoke was a lot cooler. It even had an interesting flavor; something exotic he couldn't quite name. It was sweet and rich in his mouth and nose. As the night went on, he found himself able to relax and enjoy the session. Even Granger wasn't as obnoxious. His thoughts concerning her and even his self-righteous family began to dull down.

Toward the end of the night, a loud bell rang out. Granger looked over her shoulder at a parchment map lying on the floor. She stood up and began touching the hookah, manipulating the filter and water. The group caught on. One by one, each began to vanish pillows, tables. Granger transformed the hookah into a lamp and gingerly placed it inside a nearby cardboard box.

"What's going on?" Draco asked, standing slowly.

"Our alarm system," McLaggen answered. "Someone's on their way to the Room of Requirement. Don't want to risk anything, so we always clean up before heading out."

"This time it's Filch," Granger said.

When everything was properly put away and the air purified with a light lemon scent, the group headed for the exit. Patil adjusted her Ravenclaw tie and asked Granger when the next meet-up would be.

"I'll owl my parents for more shisha," Granger said. The wall opened before them. Quickly, they made their way out of the Room of Requirement and into the corridor. Granger's voice dropped to a whisper. "They're sending me a fresh batch of cannabis, as well. Erm, marijuana." She nodded at Thomas. "I'll bring a little for us. Should be getting cannabis sometime later this week, but for the shisha, might not be till next Friday."

Upon parting, the group said their goodbyes and scattered quietly in opposite directions. Draco walked alongside Theodore at a hurried pace. "So that's a session."

Theodore said nothing. Draco decided to continue. "I can't believe you've been hanging out with that Mudblood."

Theodore shrugged. "Better than Vince and Greg."

"That's debatable," Draco grumbled.

"Come on, Draco," Theodore nudged. "Don't tell me you didn't have fun. You even stopped complaining about Hermione after awhile."

Draco stopped in his tracks. "Hermione?" he exclaimed, noting his use of her first name. "_Hermione?_"

His friend sighed. "She's a lot better than you think."

"I didn't know you two were on a first name basis."

"We're not," Theodore claimed. "Not really, anyway."

As he went to bed that night, he thought of the picture of Granger laying in the bottom of his drawer. Was Theodore harboring feelings for the Mudblood, as well? Draco scowled. _Feelings?_ he asked himself, embarrassed by the thought.

Draco found he didn't mind hookah and shisha. It was a nice change from alcohol, and he preferred the hazy buzz to being drunk. However, his enjoyment didn't keep his conscience at bay for long. He wondered what his parents would say if they knew he tried something that was not only possibly Muggle in origin, but absolutely forbidden among the small pure-blood bubble he was born into. Would McLaggen tell someone? No, Draco reasoned. He was just as nervous as Draco in the circle. And he could count on Theodore not to mention anything, simply because he never mentioned anything. As Draco slowly fell to sleep, he debated whether or not he should miss Pansy's party in order to attend the next session.

It turned out he didn't have to make any excuses to leave the party. As the Slytherin common room raged, Draco and Theodore made their way out easily by sticking to the walls. Draco looked back to see Pansy take yet another shot of Firewhisky in celebration of her eighteenth birthday. The crowd cheered her on. Most of the attendees were Slytherin, but he spotted two Ravenclaws chatting by the food.

"How did they get in?" Draco asked Theodore.

"I think Millie brought them in exchange for finishing her homework assignments. Hope she wasn't dumb enough to let the password slip in front of them."

With Draco being a prefect, they didn't run into any trouble on their way to the Room of Requirement. When they entered, they found Thomas lighting up the coals on top of the hookah. Patil waved and Lovegood continued placing the pillows on the ground. McLaggen was already seated.

Theodore smiled slightly and took a seat. Draco settled for nodding in greeting. They gathered in a circle around the hookah. Conversation grew sparse as minutes ticked on.

"Where's Granger?" If no one was going to ask, Draco would bring it up.

Thomas shifted in his seat. "She told me to go on ahead. I think she was talking with Harry and Ron before she left."

Just then, she came rushing in, announcing her apology. "Ron held me up. I didn't mean to be late."

"Was he giving you trouble?" Patil asked, genuinely concerned.

"I might have let it slip we were holding another session tonight," Thomas admitted.

"I knew the Weasel wouldn't approve," Draco said with a smirk, strangely happy to hear Granger upset by someone other than him.

"You could say that," she grumbled. "Anyway, I've got a nice bag of treats for tonight." Granger reached into her extremely colorful bag and pulled out a small tin can. "Some mint shisha, strongest flavor out there." She threw it gently to Thomas, who placed it next to the hookah.

"I've already got the last batch you brought lighted up," he said. "It'll run out soon, though. We can pack this in later."

She ruffled through her bag and pulled out a small baggie. "Here's some pure indica for myself, Dean, Padma, and anyone else who'd like to take a hit of cannabis."

"My father said he'll publish my article if I have any out of body experiences," Lovegood said lightly. "I'd like to try some."

"I'll give it a shot," McLaggen said boldly.

"I did some reading on it," Theodore replied. "I'm in."

"Me too," Draco said quickly, not one for being upstaged.

"Wow, the whole gang is in," Granger quipped before taking a seat. "Dean, would you like to help me roll?"

He reached into his pocket and took out a silver, ornate box. "Got you covered."

"What's that?" McLaggen asked.

"A rollbox," Thomas answered. He opened then closed it swiftly. "Automatic joints."

"All this Muggle lingo," Theodore said. "It's truly fascinating."

Draco rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Thomas and Granger. They began to take out tiny sheets of paper, sprinkling the harsh green substance one at a time. As they began to roll it into what reminded Draco of a weak cigarette, McLaggen took a hit of hookah.

"I heard Pansy's partying it up tonight," McLaggen said as he let out the flavored smoke. "Why aren't you guys in your common room?"

"I'm not the biggest fan of alcohol," Theodore answered mysteriously.

Draco caught Granger looking at him. He shrugged. "This is more interesting." She offered him a small smile, then refocused on her rolling. Draco heard a loud pop and was impressed to see Thomas' little box pop out what he called joints. He returned his attention to Granger, stroking his chin while she brought another paper to her lips. Her togune dashed out and ran across the paper evenly before she rolled the rest of it.

"Lisa and Terry said they got an invite," Patil hinted at Theodore and Draco. "I heard Slytherin parties are wild."

Theodore only shrugged. Draco, proud of the perceived elitism and exclusivity of his house, smugly said, "they have been known to cause quite a few _obliterates_ in the morning."

As the hookah hose made its way around the circle, most of the attention was on the cannabis Thomas and Granger had prepared. Draco watched while Granger took out a strange Muggle lighter. He felt a strange anticipation settle in his stomach. He bounced his knee up and down to get rid of some of his excess, nervous energy, watching Granger closely as she inhaled. When the smoke had run its course inside her, she exhaled deeply. Draco eyed the joint she dangled expertly between her index and middle finger. An inexplicable desire for someone to capture the moment in photograph hit him.

"Hey Granger," he called out. She brought the joint up to her lips once more before looking at him. "Theo tells me Creevey's got a crush on you."

Thomas and McLaggen laughed. Granger passed the joint to Patil as she held her breath, her face in deep concentration. She blew it all out and raised her eyebrows. "This is the first time I'm hearing about it."

"It's true, though," Thomas said. "I was pretty sure he was gay until he started following Hermione around all the time."

"My sister says he takes pictures of all the Gryffindor girls," Patil chimed in.

Granger nodded. "He's a pain. Not much of a problem lately, though. It'd be funny if someone started following him around all day with a camera. See how much he likes it."

"It is a bit flattering, though," McLaggen offered. "Isn't it?"

"What, being completely stalked while someone shadows your every move?" Granger giggled. "I guess it depends on the person." She turned her attention to Draco. "Right, Malfoy?"

He grumbled incoherently, embarrassed that she'd bring up her observations here.

Thankfully, she chose not to dwell on it. "What do you think of the cannabis, Padma?"

Patil exhaled and nodded. "Nice. Smoother than I imagined." She waited a while before taking another hit and passing it to Lovegood.

"Now, how do I do this?" Lovegood asked, examining the joint as though it were a foreign specimen for class.

"It's just like with the hookah," Thomas said. "Inhale, let it rest inside you for as long as you can handle, then blow it out. It might hurt if you take too much in...remember, this is hot. It's not cool like shisha."

Lovegood brought it to her lips and sucked in. Her eyes went wide as she pulled away and made a face. Granger, Patil, and Thomas giggled, causing Lovegood to exhale quickly. "Very interesting," she coughed as she passed it to McLaggen.

Draco watched as it made its way from the Gryffindor to Theodore and finally to him. "Did you pick this out of your garden, Granger?" he asked, trying to shake his nerves.

"This is a batch from back home," she answered. "My parents have been growing for as long as I can remember. I'm trying to raise a plant to maturity here, but it's proving a lot more difficult than I estimated. I don't have as many resources as I do back home."

"You always do that," Theodore said quietly.

"What?"

"'Back home'," he quoted. "Isn't this your home?"

"I can't have two homes?"

Theodore grinned. Draco brought the joint up to his face for inspection. It was smaller, now that it went through the entire group. As he took it to his lips, he sharply inhaled and immediately understood why the others made those strange faces. He struggled to hold it inside, letting it fill him. It hurt to keep it burned inside him for too long, so he raised his arm up and coughed into his sleeve. As Draco exhaled the rest of it out of his system, his body began visibly relaxing.

"That's a pretty big hit," Thomas commented. As Draco continued to cough, he felt a surge of pride pass through him. Though he was embarrassed by his constant coughing, none of the other first timers managed to inhale as much smoke as he did.

"How long till you start to feel it?" he asked, his voice a few octaves lower thanks to the large bout of cannabis in his lungs.

"About twenty minutes," Granger answered. "But trust me...you'll know it when you feel it."

"I know what we should do," Thomas said. "We should go for a walk. Maybe wander around outside for a bit."

"You mean sneak out?" Patil asked, her voice a small squeak.

"We should go to Parkinson's party," McLaggen butted in. "That is, if Nott and Malfoy can get us in."

Theodore and Draco laughed. "We can get you in," Draco promised. "You'll have to get yourself out, though."

"I don't know," Granger mused. "It doesn't sound like the best idea. How about we walk around for a bit, wait for the cannabis to take effect? Then we'll see how everyone's feeling."

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Thomas chided. "Everyone wants to party!"

"Even if it's Pansy's," McLaggen added.

They decided to leave the Room of Requirement after finishing their session. Thomas pocketed the last joint they rolled and said he'd save it for the party. Draco found it extremely hard to stand, and wasn't quite sure if he really wanted to.

"Indica's a pretty big body high," Granger explained as everyone gathered to leave. "Do you want to stay here for a while?"

He nodded. "I feel like there's wrackspurts all over me, going in and out...and in and out..."

Lovegood was positively gleeful. "A wrackspurt sighting?"

Draco's face looked panicked. "What? No, I don't mean literally—"

"That's amazing. I'll have to write about this to father." She continued to chat with Thomas as the group left with Theodore, Patil, and McLaggen to the party. Granger staid behind with Draco. She lay down on her back, placing her head on a pillow. Draco tried to do the same but ended up sprawled rather unattractively on the floor.

"Woah," he said. "My mouth is really, really dry."

"I know."

"How do you know, Granger? Are you inside my mouth right now?" Granger giggled at his unintended innuendo. He found her laugh disconcerting at first, but as it rang out and over and through him, he allowed himself a moment to bask. He liked that it was void of all malice and mistrust.

"Cotton-mouth is common. Do you want some water?"

"I don't know if I can get up," he said. "And I think...I think I just want to melt."

"Melt?"

"Into this carpet. This rug." He let his hands rub against the Oriental rug while he kicked off his shoes. He turned over on his stomach and his face pressed against the fuzz. He was giddy. "Oh gods," he moaned. "I just want to sink into this thing and become another insignificant pattern on an insignificant...what?"

Granger smiled. "Nothing. You rest for a bit. I'm going over there to pour myself some tea."

"How are you able to move?" he questioned, his voice muffled by the rug.

"With my limbs, I would think." They laughed and Draco grinned stupidly as he watched Granger pour tea from his spot on the rug.

For the rest of the night, Draco was able to talk to Granger openly. Somehow, she wasn't as insipid when they were both intoxicated. As they both were coming down, Draco looked over at her laying down next to him on his right.

"Do you like being a Mudblood?" he blurted without thinking.

"You mean Muggleborn?" She smiled. "I do. I get the best out of both worlds."

"I was taught there was nothing good about the Muggle world."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"This is kind of nice, though."

"The cannabis?"

Draco blinked. "That, too," he replied before turning away.

* * *

* Thanks to Letostag & anon for the reviews! What did you think? Please **LEAVE A REVIEW** and let me know :) *


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